


Undertaker: Silence

by TastingLatte



Series: Feelings: A Series of One-Shots [10]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Death, Gen, Silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastingLatte/pseuds/TastingLatte
Summary: The graveyard is silent, as is most things past death. Undertaker and a Priest muse at the landscape before them and ponder life and it's complex relationship with death.Part of the Feelings: A Series of One-Shots series.





	

SILENCE

It fell like the heavy rain on the backs of those who slowly and sadly followed the heavy coffin. Silence. The breaths of the grieving were curling into the air, divine prayers and sobs to be silently captured, bottled, noted and discarded, as one does with such things, day after day. He moved out of the shadows, standing next to the priest and sighed himself; he too sighed empty things.

"How many more will fall?"

"Many, many more," he replied. He looked into the sky and gave a small chuckle. "There are greedy members of both the heavens and depths."

"Thank you for that reminder," the priest said, once more watching the slow black clad cloud descend into the lower parts of the grounds that surrounded his stone structure. "But are humans not as greedy?"  
The other turned and raised an eyebrow.

"They want to fill so much - the dark with the light, the silence with words, hate with love, loneliness with laughter." He paused and closed the door, cutting the sound of the rain, of the small sobs, of the cracks of lightening and rumble of the thunder, off as surely as it had arisen. "We are greedy to have our fill of things. Our fill of the good and the bad. So wanting it all. But not quiet getting it. It all dies."

"It's all silence in the end, isn't it?"

The men looked at one another and the silence descended into the very room as well. A knock came and the priest turned. He opened the door and a woman stood, her hands over her face, her hat low and her dress black. He smiled a bit; a newly mourner.

"Are you here for the Ivis party? They are down the path."

She looked up sharply and he saw the pain etched into the eyes. And her mouth moved, forming and reforming words. "Was there a woman in the party? Leading on about the place as if she knew Mr. Ivis?"

"Of course, his wife."

She spat and laughed. " _His wife,_ you say. Well that's a fine thing to assume when a woman is weeping! I suppose I would not be considered for that role because I am silent and still?" She turned and placed her back to the priest and stared into the darkened sky. "Oh yes, a nice and silent woman who let her husband's eye wonder and his body… well it obviously went with _her_ didn't it?"

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Ivis, I am new to the area."

"Yes, perhaps you are, but one thing is true, she will be taking another soon enough."

He stood and watched as the rain swallowed the figure back into itself. And a hand once more was on the priest's shoulder and he looked at the longer nails, the paler skin, and up to the drab grey coat. The silence of the very grave itself seemed to always yawn and echo in the man when he came. The silence was lengthening and soon the other man slipped past him and there was nothing.

Nothing but the small stone-heads who stood like silent fingers out of the ground, reaching, reaching into the sky, demanding to be seen, demanding to be answered. A last moment of humanities cry for the silence to not take them fully. Silence them forever. The rain pelted the ground, and the ground silently drank it in like it was thirsty for the water, thirsty for the sound, thirsty for one more body.


End file.
